


Of Love Letters and Loose Leaf Paper

by koinekid



Category: Dragon Ball
Genre: F/M, Love Confessions, Misunderstandings, Snooping, Spying
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-17
Updated: 2019-09-17
Packaged: 2020-10-20 13:27:09
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,601
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20676131
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/koinekid/pseuds/koinekid
Summary: A frustrated Eighteen finds something eye-opening in Krillin's room.





	Of Love Letters and Loose Leaf Paper

**Author's Note:**

> For Chestnut Fest 2019 Day 6: Confession
> 
> Rights to Dragonball and related properties are held by their respective owners. No infringement is implied or intended.

**Of Love Letters and Loose Leaf Paper**

**By Koinekid**

Eighteen took a deep breath to forestall killing her roommate. “Since when does _pick up groceries _translate to _buy beer and corn chips at a convenience store_?

Glancing up from the kitchen table, Oolong popped a chip into his mouth and chewed. Very. Slowly. “If you don’t like what I buy, why don’t you write a shopping list?”

“That’s _your _job.”

“Then, I’ll keep buying whatever I want.”

A vein throbbed in her forehead. “Fine, I’ll make a list. Where’s the paper?”

“Beats me.”

“Then, how do you write your lists?”

“I don’t.” The pig tapped his temple. “I remember everything.”

“It isn’t hard to remember two items.”

“Three. I bought two kinds of corn chips.”

Eighteen released a frustrated growl and rummaged through the drawers and cabinets for a notepad or loose-leaf paper. Coming up empty-handed, she stalked to the living room, resisting the urge to kick over the pig’s chair as she passed. “Hey, old man. Where do you keep the paper in this dump?”

A lecherous grin split Roshi’s face as he held up a dirty magazine. “Here’s the only paper I care about. Want to keep an old man company and read it together?” He patted the spot beside him on the couch.

Eighteen’s eye twitched. Nothing for it. She would have to kill them both and hide their bodies before Krillin returned. An appropriate response given the circumstances, she reasoned.

Lost in thought, she missed a comment from the pig. “Huh?”

“I said, _Krillin probably has some_. Check his room.”

“Good idea, pig. As thanks, I’ll let you live another day.”

“Of course it’s a…” Oolong gave her a wary glance before shoving another corn chip into his mouth. “That’s not funny.”

“Who said I was joking?” She grinned wickedly as she ascended the stairs.

* * *

Krillin kept a tidy room. Eighteen knew as much observing it from the hall. But tidy did not mean organized. A search of his desk turned up no loose paper and only one notebook, its every page filled with scribbles. She found a second notebook on his dresser and a legal pad on his bed, both also full. Leaving all three in a neat stack on his desk, she prepared to abandon her quest and go yell at Oolong some more when she noticed a folded sheet of paper sticking out of the top notebook. She must have missed it earlier while fanning the pages.

Drawing out the paper, she was pleased to find its outsides blank. Ignoring the possibility that Krillin may have written something on the interior, she retrieved a pen from his desk and jotted down a rudimentary list: eggs, bread, rice, oranges for an energy boost in the morning…

Eighteen shook her head. When did she start playing mother to three grown “men”? Well, make that, two. Krillin wasn’t so bad.

She unfolded the paper, intent on tearing it in half—no need to waste the entire sheet—when she confirmed her earlier suspicion. Krillin had folded the paper for a reason. She didn’t intend to read what he wrote, but a few keywords caught her eye and compelled her to consume every word. As she did, her pulse quickened, her cheeks grew rosy, and she began to see her favorite roommate in a new light.

“Oh, my. Krillin.”

* * *

Had Krillin thought about it, he would have found the quiet of Kame House unnerving. Other than Oolong’s grunt of acknowledgment and the sounds of a game show coming from the living room, all was silent as he passed through the kitchen and trudged up the stairs.

He considered knocking on Eighteen’s door to say hi. The duffel with his training gear slung over his shoulder provided a convenient excuse to cut the visit short if things became awkward. Thinking better of it, he retreated to his own room.

An apology sprang to his lips when he spotted Eighteen standing by the desk, but he stifled it and left quietly. With her back turned, his intrusion may have gone unnoticed. If not, he would know momentarily. He braced himself for a tirade about spying on her and living up to his perverted master’s teachings.

…_Wait a minute._

Knocking on his own door as he eased it open felt surreal. “Uh, Eighteen, is there anything I can do for you?”

She whirled around with an eager smile. “Oh, yeah. Lots.”

Krillin swallowed hard. “Um…”

A severe demeanor replaced her pleasant one. An eyebrow arched, and her lips compressed into a thin line. With a crook of her finger, she invited Krillin into his room.

“Explain this.” She showed him a piece of paper.

His eyes widened when he recognized it. “Oh, no.” Snatching it from her, he started to tear it up.

“Don’t you dare!” She seized his hands. “Now, explain.”

He blushed. “It’s a love letter.”

“I can see that. Why did I find it in your room? Isn’t it finished?”

He nodded slowly. “The letter is complete, yes.”

“Then, why didn’t I see it before now?” She assumed a chiding tone. “Were you planning to sneak into my room and leave it on my pillow?”

“No, I—hey, you snuck into _my _room. Why were _you _here?”

“Focus, Krillin. When were you planning to give me my love letter?”

“I…wasn’t.”

Her face fell. “You weren’t?”

Did she sound disappointed? It must have been his imagination. “I’m sorry, Eighteen. I never intended for you to read this.”

Her voice became a whisper, and he had to lean in to hear. “You didn’t mean these words?”

Lying would be the safer course, but he couldn’t bring himself to do it. “Of course, I meant them, but I didn’t want to make you uncomfortable.”

“Why would I be uncomfortable?”

“You’re always complaining about the others hitting on you. I wanted to tell you how I feel, but I promised myself you’d always have one person in this house who treated you like a friend, not an object.”

“Amazing.” Eighteen smirked, shaking her head. “The only guy in this house who refuses to hit on me is the one I _want_ to do it.”

“You—you do?”

“As long as you use words like this.” She gestured at the letter still clutched in his hand. “Got anymore?”

“I’ve written you a dozen love letters.”

“Gimme!”

Krillin’s burgeoning smile faltered. “I can’t. I destroyed them so no one would stumble across them. I would have destroyed this one too if I hadn’t misplaced it.”

“How could you destroy such beautiful words?” She reclaimed the letter, glaring at him as if challenging him to damage it.

“Sorry,” he offered lamely.

“I can tell the difference between lust and affection, you know.”

“I know.”

“And these are clearly words of affection.” She waved the letter at him.

“I know. I wrote them.”

Eighteen crossed her arms and resumed glaring at him. Wisely, he refrained from further comment as she mulled things over. Finally, like a displeased schoolmaster, she pointed at his desk. “Sit.”

He pulled up a chair.

“Do you have more paper?” she asked.

“In the closet.”

“Why is it—? Never mind.” She retrieved the paper and set a fresh sheet and pen in front of him. “Write me another love letter.”

“But, Eighteen—”

“Now.” She perched on the bed and re-crossed her arms.

He could feel her watching him as he lifted the pen. It stymied him.

Pouring out his heart was easy when he knew she would never read the result. It felt more like keeping a journal than composing a letter. He made several false starts, crossing out sappy openings and sighing at his own failure to convey what this woman meant to him. He set down his pen and hung his head.

Closing his eyes, he pictured Eighteen as she appeared when she didn’t know he was looking: biting her lip in concentration or brushing a strand of hair behind her ear. He remembered the way her brow compressed when she bickered with their roommates; the joy in her face when she mastered some new technique—fighting or culinary; the musical sound of her genuine laughter; the way she celebrated, fist pumping in excitement when she bested him at something, not mocking him—she seldom did that anymore—but more like seeking his approval or asking him to celebrate with her.

He pictured Eighteen as only he knew her, and the words flowed. For minutes on end, he wrote, barely noticing her reading over his shoulder. He filled the page front and back, and when he reached for a second sheet, her hand covered his.

“Hey, I’m not finished.”

Eighteen smiled. “I know, and I want you to. But for now, why don’t you _tell_ me how you feel? And”—she licked her lips—”maybe show me?”

“E-eighteen?”

Pulling him to his feet, she guided him to the bed, where her lips claimed his.

Naturally, that was the moment they were interrupted. A throat cleared, and Oolong asked, “Do I need to make a trip to the pharmacy aisle as well?”

Krillin had never seen someone driven through a wall by the force of a thrown pillow before. But that was a great thing about Eighteen—she introduced him to new and exciting experiences. He should add that to his letter, and he would, later. For now, the look in the eyes of the woman he loved told him that, for the next few minutes, he would be a little preoccupied.

** _The End._ **

** _Thanks for reading; reviews are appreciated._ **


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